


A Long Time Coming

by fermentthemind (cats_cradle6766)



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: Business Partners, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cats_cradle6766/pseuds/fermentthemind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years that they've been that power team, they just didn't really get what it meant for, well, them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Written at boozeandyogurt on twitter. Mostly because the two of us got talking Maze Runner and, well, things happen.

It's been years of this. Overworking, under sleeping, planning, pitching, dominating, and working constantly. Where one leans, the other supports, and it all ends up with the two of them trading winning grins knowing they've got this. They can do anything, as long as they're together.

It's been years since their friends tried to get them out, to go on blind dates and 'meet people'. Most of the time the ended up staying too late in the office, surviving on caffeine and adrenalin, Thomas wracking his brain for ideas and Minho putting the pieces together into the golden winning project that saved their asses every time.

All those long nights, endless nights, staying up side by side to get a pitch done and working way too hard but leaning on each other just that necessary balance.

"You're gonna drive yourself into the ground," Minho grinds out one night, voice low and rough from lack of sleep.

"Yeah, well, I have you to always dig me back up, right?" Thomas says, grinning as he looks up from their work.

It was about a month after that Thomas's lease ran out on his apartment, Minho's sister got engaged, and they ended up just making things easier. It wasn't that much different, moving in and just slipping deeper into a routine with the added components of laundry, meals, and shower routines. It got simpler though, where Minho found out Thomas got cuddly when he fell asleep on the couch and Thomas got so used to Minho showering with the door open it seemed like nothing could phase them.

It all just became normal, them, comfortable. If they didn't manage to finish work at the office, they brought it home, a take out pizza and delivered coffee working in the living room until Thomas gave up and face planted into Minho's lap demanding early retirement. It all became just them, where if one of them was having a rough day, they had each other's back, attached at the hip, able to read each other and know what was going on with just a simple look.

Maybe it's because of that, because everything was so simple, so comfortable, that Minho missed it. But then, slowly, amid all the dirty laundry and mornings when he'd wake up to Thomas walking in on him when he showered to brush his teeth, he began to notice things.

Like when Thomas can tell he's had a rough day and tries, probably without even realizing it, to cheer him up. When Minho can tell when Thomas is spread too thin and refuses to let him take on full work, instead working his fingers at the back of the other man's neck, easing some of the tension that's built up there as Thomas slowly melts into him, eyes fluttering closed as he lets out a sot breath.

Then there's something new, where Minho comes home to the smell of basil and onions and Italian and stops in the kitchen, staring at Thomas who looks at him almost guiltily over a few plates.

"Did you actually make spaghetti?" Minho asks, staring at his roommate, his partner, his... at Thomas.

"Yes," Thomas tells him, holding out a plate for him and a fork. Tentatively, not entirely sure what the deal is (aside from how Minho's been out straight with one of their clients), Minho takes the plate. Takes a bite.

"It tastes like shit."

Thomas shrugs a bit, arms crossing over his chest, as he looks at Minho, briefly sucking at his teeth as he watches him eat another bite. "Look, I tried okay-"

"Thanks," Minho tells him, looking up with a small smile, warm, and real, and it's- it's enough.

They're good.

Thomas stares for a moment, then shrugs and smiles, grabbing his own plate. "...Any time, man," he says, before sitting down at the table, grabbing Minho to join him, and grinning widely to his plate.

Something tugs, and it's not the oregano.

 

-

 

"You mean to tell me," Newt says slowly, looking up from production designs with that cold sarcastic look in his eyes. "That you and Thomas have been living together for _a year_ and you're _just now_ suspecting that you might _have feelings_ towards him?'

Minho doesn't take the bait, knowing saying something like "yes" is just rising to Newt's bait to throw a damn entitled to this bullshit theatrics tantrum at him.

"Is that what you're telling me?" Newt pauses, look intensifying. 

"He made me spaghetti," Minho says bluntly.

"Thomas can't cook."

"I know," Minho says and can't help it if he sounds fond.

"Well-" Newt looks a bit thrown. "Was it any good?"

"I mean, it was edible- well, kind of," Minho pauses. "I'm still alive."

"I can't believe I know the both of you," Newt says. "I can't believe I put up with either of you, you know this is what's going to drive me into early retirement, not my goddamn unreasonable clients, but my two idiot friends and their drama."

"It's not drama-"

"Oh, of course not, it's just emotional constipation you two have had for _years_."

"It's not that- look-"

"No one," Newt says sternly. " _No_ partners live together, let alone have bonding weekends up in a cabin in the woods unless it's them having an affair from their marriage with their intern."

"Neither of us are married-"

"That's because you're fucking married to each other but you both forgot to go to the damn wedding you were too busy working." Newt sighs, looking thoroughly irritated by now. "Look, the point is, you might just be realizing that you've wanted to bang him for years-"

"I never said I wanted to bang-"

"But you want to, don't interrupt me, I know how you look at people, I've know you since we were in high school," Newt scoffs. " _You_ might just be realizing it, but before you let yourself fall into the pit of delusion that he doesn't feel the same way, remember that he made you dinner." Newt gets a sort of sly self-satisfied smirk on his face. "And he can't even cook."

"So he tried to poison me?" Minho frowns.

Newt lets out the most suffering sigh Minho has ever heard from him, sitting back in his chair. "You know what, forget it. I quit. I'm retiring from our friendship. This is too much for my blood pressure."

"The last thing I new, cooking food for someone didn't mean you wanted to fuck them," Minho says flatly.

"Where the fuck did you learn about dating?" Newt asks him, that scathing skepticism raw and alive in him. "What did you _think_ it means?"

"You've cooked for me, do you want to fuck me?" Minho asks him.

"I cooked for you because I knew you would die if I didn't," Newt points out. "And I can _actually_ cook. There's a difference. One of them is sentiment, the other is business - I need you alive so I can keep my damn job as part of your firm."

 

-

 

It's a week later that Thomas ends up in the apartment, close to midnight, looking exhausted and damp from the rain outside, and finds Minho nodding off at the table, which is set, and with pans and bowls of food... real food, scattered around the kitchen. He wakes up with a soft brush of fingers against his back, startling to look up at Thomas with a sort of bleary stupor that draws a familiar smile over Thomas' face anyway. "Hey."

"Fuck, did you just get home?"

"Yeah, I had a meeting run late," Thomas explains, shucking his jacket to step into the kitchen, poking at the food. "Did you cook?"

"I- yeah."

"Seriously?"

"You make it sound like I'm helpless."

"You _are_ helpless."

"Fine, you don't get to have any of the dinner I made you then," Minho tells him flatly, even as Thomas has his fingers in the salad, a few greens and vegetables in his mouth and half chewed. Thomas freezes, opens his mouth, and lets a few bits of salad fall out with a half guilty-half dick head of the world look on his face.

"You're disgusting."

"You made me dinner," Thomas says, looking excessively pleased as he pokes around the other foods. "I can't be all that bad." He peeks. "Fuck, is that _mac and cheese_?"

And something, probably delirium, comes over Minho as he gets up and walks into the kitchen to stand there with Thomas and grab plates and actually serve them food. All the while Thomas gets in the way, underfoot, grinning idiotically as he keeps asking questions like 'did you really make this for me?' and 'where did you learn how to cook?' and 'did Newt actually make this?' and saying things like 'this is awesome' and 'you're awesome' and 'thank you so much' as he bumps into him. He keeps looking over his shoulder into the microwave and brushes his hand against Minho's back, his arms, his hands, his sides, and Minho shoves a glass of water into his hands just to get some _air_.

"Shut up and eat," Minho tells him, pushing a plate of food into his hands and seating them down.

"I love you," Thomas says, and Minho freezes, looking up at Thomas' grinning face and realizing it's not-

Fuck. Did it really get that bad? Did he really get that bad? 

"Yeah, whatever," Minho sighs, sitting down across from his partner with his own plate of food. He tries to ignore how Thomas tangles their feet together under the table, how his hair is slightly fluffy from the rain outside and sticks to his face, how his eyes are bright and happy as he decimates his food. He tries to ignore how he keeps _watching_ Minho as he eats with this eager pleased look in his eyes and a stupid little smile and gets cheese his cheeks and lettuce stuck between his teeth and Minho just can't even deal with how he feels about this man because it's actually so damn embarrassing how much he wants to sigh in fondness.

_Fuck._

And then- then Thomas, after they eat, makes him sit on the couch and does the dishes and tells him to rest. Then Thomas finally shucks off his work shirt until he's in his too thin white undershirt and slacks and socks. Then Thomas does the dishes while Minho half lies on the couch and breathes because cooking is _exhausting_ (even if he just reheated an oven dinner) and Thomas is taking care of him even if Minho meant to be taking care of him, and-

The soft brush of fingers through his hair has Minho opening his eyes, looking up at Thomas who leans over him, cheeks a little pink from the hot sink water, and finally looking a bit tired. It's the most welcome sight in the world.

"Thank you," Thomas says, voice softer and a little rougher. "For-"

It's not really a conscious decision when Minho reaches up for him, when he stares into Thomas' face and his hands reach to curve around his face, slide around the back of his neck, brush at the short hairs at the back of his neck and feel warm skin and the stick of dried sweat. Minho doesn't intentionally drag Thomas down into him. It's not like he meant to do it, he just _does_ it, realizing at the last second Thomas has stopped speaking and that- shit.

It's barely a moment before he manages to rein it in, instead dragging Thomas into a very firm, very intentional hug, tucking his face into the side of his neck and closing his eyes as Thomas loses balance and flops into the couch with him, mostly on him, and- and it's so nice. 

They've done this hundreds of times where Thomas or Minho will end up giving up on their legs and just collapsing on each other in a pile of limbs. If they can't figure out if they're crushing each other and don't really care, that's just--

But this time, with Thomas' soft sigh into Minho's neck, his hands easily slipping to wind around Minho's waist, shoving between his back and the couch, Minho realizes that this isn't just-

This is more, especially since his heart is hammering in his chest and it's taking a lot of resolve not to turn his head and press a kiss to Thomas' temple, to pull back and -

"This is nice," Thomas mumbles, voice garbled with tired as he goes limp over Minho's body.

"Yeah," Minho says thickly, and since when did he wrap his arms around Thomas? Since when did he start running his hands up and down his back? Since when did he memorize the feel and contours of Thomas's back, his shoulders, his spine, his body so well he knew how pressing just a little harder on the muscle right below his left shoulder would get a soft pleased moan from him? Since when did Minho _care so fucking much_ about him? 

Does it even really matter?

"Yeah," he says, closing his eyes as Thomas snuggles closer, pressing his nose into Minho's neck gentle, nuzzling. Fuck, he's _nuzzling_ him. "Yeah it is," Minho says, voice a bit rough, heart beating a little harder, and it's so _nice_ and so comfortable and they've done this a million times and it's just the first time Minho realized what it meant to him. What he felt and actually paid attention.

So maybe-- maybe it's because he's not the one falling asleep first as they snuggle on the couch and his hands just finally slow to stop resting on Thomas' lower back. Maybe it's because he's been listening for Thomas' breathing to even out instead of just sleeping first, and maybe it _is_ because he made dinner (mostly) but it's a good forty minutes before Minho feels Thomas shift slightly, let out a soft sigh, and the definite feeling of lips presses just to the juncture of his jaw.

Nothing intense, just- just a soft kiss, but-

But it's enough for Minho to still, for Thomas to suddenly still, and for it to suddenly feel very loud and very quiet all at once.

"Thomas-"

"So, uh, hey-"

"Thomas-"

"I thought you were asleep-"

" _Thomas,_ " Minho says sternly, shifting as Thomas tries to burrow into his shoulder and avoid him (which is stupid, why did he have to like such a stupid person?).

So Minho does the smart thing and rolls over, Thomas letting out a small surprised grunt before he's flipped over, cheeks dark and eyes hazed and warm and breaths a little faster as he looks up at Minho, positions flipped, and-

"Did you kiss me?"

Thomas presses his lips together, swallows.

"Thomas-"

"I can explain," Thomas says breathily.

"Answer the question."

"Minho-"

"It's okay," Minho tells him, and Thomas' eyes flicker, his breaths stopping. 

And then, just like that, Thomas isn't lying on the couch staring up at him. He's leaned up, has one hand around the back of Minho's neck and the other gripping his bicep tightly as he pushes their mouths together in a strange uncoordinated slot of lips against lips that pushes every bit of breath and sense out of Minho's mind in one fell swoop.

As Thomas pulls away, a kiss that felt like it stopped time only lasting a moment, Minho feels his heart jump, chasing more, chasing-

Thomas lets out a soft gasp as Minho leans back in, kissing him back, again and again, Thomas' hands pulling him closer, gripping tighter and keeping them solid. grounded even as Minho's head spins to the feeling of Thomas' mouth and half desperate kisses. 

And it's so _nice_ , a huge part of Minho wondering if this has _always_ been what they've done, if this is really the first time because it feels so normal, so natural, so-

A last lingering kiss before Thomas pulls back, a soft laugh at the back of his throat and his fingers threaded through Minho's hair. "So..."

"So," Minho echoes in an exhale.

"So," Thomas repeats, and a his smile tugs wider. "That's..."

"Yeah," Minho says, resting their foreheads together, sharing smiles and breaths. "Yeah."

"Good," Thomas tells him, fingernails gently scratching against Minho's scalp in a familiar comforting drag. He smiles, leaning up a little to nudge his nose against Minho's. "Very good."

 

-

 

"You both," Newt says the next day at the office as he leaves them, throwing a pointed look at them each. "Owe me."

"For what?" Thomas asks.

"My incredibly tolerance," Newt says with a pointed look and eyebrow raise. "Congratulations," he adds, offering a small quirked smile, eyes lingering on Thomas before they flicker to Minho, and then he's gone. 

Looking over at Thomas across the desk, Minho waits for something, an explanation. Instead, Thomas just shrugs, offers a small quirk of his mouth, and picks up the freshly delivered coffee for the pitch they need to finish before the morning. "You ready?" he asks, stepping towards the work desk, their domain.

"Always," Minho tells him, smiling as he steps up beside Thomas, his partner, his... his Thomas and knows they can do this. Together, they can do anything. 

 

-


End file.
